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TANDING By 



By OLIVER P. PARKER 



Author of 
CLAIM ALLOWED 






MEMPHIS 

TENN. 



NOTICE: This Play is protected by United States Copyright, with 
all Rights Reserved to THE NATIONAL DRAMA CO., Memphis, 
Tennessee, from whom a license must be secured for each and 
every production. 



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STANDING BY 

By OLIVER P. PARKER 



AUTHOR OF 



CLAIM ALLOWED 

THE WINNING OF LATANE 

THE CALL OF THE FLAG 

BETTER THAN GOLD 

THE VALEDICTORY 

LONE STAR 

ETC. 



Copyrighted, 1919, by 
Oliver Perry Parker 



All Rights Reserved to 

THE NATIONAL DRAMA CO., 

Memphis, Tenn. 



P5353/ 
1^ \'=\ 



Dear Friend : 

Here is another PARKER play ifior your consider- 
ation. We place it before you on its merit, and in 
the sincere hope that you will find it good enough 
to be given a chance to ''do its bit." 

There is no charge for examination ; but should 
you decide to produce the play it will be necessary 
for you to secure from us a Copyright Privilege 
License for each production. 

Our charge for this license is $5.00? and we fur- 
nish FREE with each license a complete set of parts 
for each character, coach copy and an exclusive res- 
ervation. We also agree to refund the full amount 
paid if the play is produced and not found entirely 
satisfactory. 

THE NATIONAL DRAMA CO., 

Memphis, Tennessee 

See Order Blank in Back of Book. 



MAK 22 1919 



-VK^ f 



STANDING BY 

Copyright 1919. All rights reserved. 



CAST OF CHARACTERS. 

Mr. Carey — A soldier's friend. 
Ethelind — Doing her father's will. 
Mrs. Carey — With a different view. 
Max Martin — Mrs. Carey's choice. 
Dr. Brighton — A friend of the family. 
Mrs. Oakley — A friend of the orphans. 
Mrs. Walton — A mother of a soldier. 
Rosa Walton — Of the Great Red Cross. 
Bobby Walton — A follower of the flag. 
Aunt Polly — Black face and tender heart. 
Henry — "Wid de Expulsion fo'ces." 
Time to Play — Two hours. 

ACT I. 

SCENE — Well furnished room in the home of the 
Careys in Richmond. Early spring of 1919. Mr. Carey 
seated center by small table reading paper. 

POLLY— (L. With basket or bundle.) Well, well, Mas- 
sar Carey, I's glad ter see you sittin' up agin. Feelin' all 
rat, is you? 

MR. CAREY — yes, Polly, I think I am much better. 
What are you cooking today that is good? 

POLLY — Now I knows you is better. What you 
cravin'? 

MR. C. — Something with a kick to it. 

POLLY — I caint do nuffin' fur you 'long dat line, 
Massar Carey. Case dat kickin' stuff am gittin' power- 
ful scace. But er cose, ef I had the price 

MR. C. — I am talking about something to eat. 

POLLY — Shucks! I thot you had somepin else in 
mind. I thut you wanted to stick yo' nose in er ole fash- 
ion julep. 

MR. C. — No. I would be satisfied with a square meal. 

POLLY — If you'l fire dat nuss I'll fixe dat appetite. 

MR. C. — She is going to France pretty soon. 

POLLY — Dat reminds me. I got a letter dis mawnin* 
fum date France, en I wanted to git her to read it to me. 

MR. C. — I will read it for you. 

POLLY — (Gives him a letter.) Thanl?: you sah. (Sits 
L.) 

MR. C. — (Reads, imitating negro.) **Wid de Ameri- 



can Expulsion fo'ces. (Read date to make 60 days.)" 
You should feel flattered, Polly. This letter has reached 
you in sixty days. 

POLLY — Yassar. Dey's all censored bout lack dat. 

MR. C. — (Reading.) ''My dear Mademoiselle" 

POLLY— Dat letter ain't to me. 

MR. C. — O yes it is. That is French. 

POLLY — (Weeping.) You needn't read no mo', Mas- 
sar Carey. Dat's jes' er letter fum one er dem French- 
mens tellin' me dat mah boy am dade. And he's away 
out dar in dat No Man's Lan' by hesef, and I didn't get 
to go to de fun'l. 

MR. C— no, Polly. It is from Henry. He just 
wants to let you know that he knows some French, 

POLLY — (Fimly.) Dat nigger better lay off'n dat 
French; or he'll say somepin dat'll git him in geuard 
house. 

MR. C. — Let's see how he gets along with it. "Well, 
Mammy" 

POLLY — Now dat's United States, and it ain't so dis- 
tressin'. I'll listen to dat. 

MR. C. — "Well, Mammy, I takes de time endurin' dis 
lull in de scrappin' to written you dat I has been able so 
fur to keep my name off' n de cazallity list, en I hopes 
you de same. Well, Mammy, Wash want hut much, but 
he lef de hawspital wid a game leg dat uncompliments 
him so he couldn't run fas' enuf to keep contac wid de 
enemy; and so he wus put to cookin' fur us." 

POLLY— COOKIN'? Why, dat nigger '1 kill de las 
one of 'm. 

MR. C. — I though all of your boys were good cooks. 

POLLY — Dat'n ain't. He caint bile er egg. If I had 
a knowed dat dey wus a needin' a good I'd er gone myself. 

MR. C. — If you were cooking for them they wouldn't 
want to do anything but eat. 

POLLY — (Pleased.) Thank you, sah. I reggin I 
don't play second fiddle when it comes to cookin'. You 
know some big man done said dat a army travels on its 
stomach. 

MR. C. — That was Napoleon. 

POLLY — Well, now, Massar Carey, if dat American 
Army was travelin' on a stummick full of MY cookin', 
dar wouldn't be no way to stop 'm, 'ceptin' to kill de 
cook. What else do he say? 

MR. C. — "Well, Mammy, dat cookin' of Wash's was 
too hard on our morality, and it was beginnin' to show 
in the cazallity list; and so he was transferred, and now 
he is cookin' for de prisoners we takes. And de Cap'n 
say he is much more effective wid a skillet den he ever 
was wid a bayonet, anyhow. Well, Mammy, you tell 
Pahson Jenkins dat I has been out in dat No Man's Lan', 
and I fully agrees wid him dat it am more blessed to give 

den to receive. Ce, est, ce, la, pas" I don't know 

what he means by that. 

POLLY- He don't, nuther. Jes' skip it. 



MR. C. — "Well, Mammy, how is you rheumatiz, and 
all de res' of de folks. Tell Lucindy howdy for me, en 
tell her she gwine to be my objective when I gits back. 
Aurevoir." 

POLLY— What's dat? 

MR. C— That is the end of the letter. (Gives it.) 

POLLY — Thank you, sah. Jes' lemme know what you 
wants to eat, and Pll fix it for you. 

MR. C. — When we get rid of the doctor and nurse I 
will come down to the kitchen and give you a special 
order. 

POLLY — (Going L.) Pll do de bes' I kin' for you. 

MR. C. — You are forgetting your bundle. 

POLLY — (Coming back.) Dat's dem li'l Orphans 
cloves what I been ironin' fer de RED Cross. Miss Ethel- 
ind said she'd sen' 'm down for me. 

MR. C. — Just leave them here and I will call her at- 
tention to them when she comes in. 

POLLY — And tell her ef she got any mo' jes' to lemme 
know. Ps powerful sorry for dem li'l fellers and I is 
willin' to hep 'm out all I kin. 

MR. C. — Would you like to adopt one of them? 

POLLY — I sho' would, but I jes' natchully ain't got 
de money. 

ROSA — (R.) Mrs. Oakley has called to see you. Do 
you feel like talking to her? 

MR. C. — Why, yes. Let her come in. (Ex. Rosa R.) 
Polly, tell Mrs. Carey Mrs. Oakley is here. 

POLLY — She haven't come back yet. (Ex. P. L.) 

MRS. OAKLEY— (R. with Rosa.) Why, Mr. Carey, 
you don't look like a sick man. 

MR. C. — I don't feel very much like one. Mrs. Oak- 
ley, meet my nurse. Miss Walton. 

MRS. O. — Well, well, Rosa Walton. I didn't recognize 
you. How are you, dear? 

ROSA — Just fine, thank you. 

MRS. O. — How long have you been a nurse? 

ROSA — This is my first case. 

MRS. O. — Is she a good nurse, Mr. Carey? 

MR. C. — The best I ever had. 

MRS. 0. — Is he a good patient, Rosa? 

ROSA — (Laugh.) The'best I ever had. 

MRS. 0. — Do you expect to go over seas? 

ROSA — Just as soon as they will take me. And I 
hope I get there in time to nurse Bobby. 

MRS. 0. — It would be a great comfort to him to have 
you with him. I wish I could go and be a part of that 
great mother heart that is loving and caring for my boy. 
I don't see how I could stand to have him so far away 
from me if I did not know that he is sheltered by the 
wings of the great Red Cross. 

MR. C. — Have you heard from Charles lately? 

MRS. O. — I had a letter today statiijg that he will 
recover, and that he will not be maimed ; and to show 
my gratitude I have set myself the task of providing 



for ten little War Orphans. I have placed seven already, 
and have but these three left. (Shows photos.) Two 
boys and a girl. 

MR. C. — (Looking at photos.) They are fine little 
fellows, aren't they? (Polly comes up and looks.) 

MRS. 0. — Yes. In spite of their rags and hunger they 
all have smiling faces. How do you account for that? 

MR. C. — I don't know, I am sure. It may be that God 
lights their faces with a smile that we may better see 
their lonely hearts. How do you like them, Polly? (Gives 
photos.) 

POLLY — Bress dey li'l broken hearts, dey is smilin'. 
Miss Oakley, dat smile is de good Lawd's wuk. He puts 
dat bright light in dey li'l faces so's we can fin' 'm. En 
I don't see whut de peoples thinkin' 'bout to let 'm starve. 
Don't de good book say fur us to feed de li'l fellers 
fust? 

MRS. O. — It doesn't say exactly that, does it? 

POLLY — Now, look heah. Miss Oakley. I don't be- 
lieve you is a Bible student. Don't de good book say 
when you sees a li'l feller hongry en thirsty en naked, 
you'd better git busy en hep 'm out? 

ROSA — "In as much as ye have done it unto one of 
1"Ti p Ipnsi" o'P 1"lipsp 

POLLY— You's got it, honey. ''DE LEAST ER DESE.'* 
Dat's dese War Orphans. Dey's hongry en naked en 
thirsty, en we knews it. De Good Lawd gwine to make 
it almighty hot for de folks what passes dese chil'n by. 

MR. C. — You have a convincing argument, Polly. Why 
don't you go out and tell others about it? 

POLLY — Dat's what de matter now, Massar Carey. 
Dey's too many folks tellin' somebody else what to do, 
en dey never does nuffin' deysef. I'd ruther git behin' 
one er dese li'l fellers and see her thu, 

MR. C. — All right. Take your choice. I will pay 
for it. 

POLLY— Thank YOU. I'll take de li'l girl. 

MR. C. — You may keep her picture. I will take the 
other two, Mrs. Oakley. 

MRS, O. — I thought you had one already. 

MR. C. — I have; but Polly piay be right about this 
light in their faces. If they are brave enought to face 
their awful future with a smile, I think we ought to help 
they all we can. 

MRS. O. — You are going to give until its hurts, aren't 
you? 

MR. C. — No. I am going to give until it quits hurting. 

MRS. O. — That is a better slogan, and I think I shall 
use it in the future. (Rising.) Goodby. I am glad to 
see you getting well again. 

MR. C. — Goodby. I am glad you came in. (Ex. Mrs. 
0.— R.) 

POLLY — I sh«' is proud of dis li'l pictur. 

ROSA — I may see your orphan when I get to France. 

POLLY — If you do jes' tell her dat ole Black Mammy 

6 



gwine ter stan' rat by her side, whilst you is takin' care 
of de American soldiers. 

MR. C. — Why do you say American soldiers? Don^t 
you want to see all of the soldiers cared for? 

POLLY — Well, I didn't mean to 'sclude de Allies, er 
cose; but I's intrusted in our own boys fust. When you 
gits thu wid dem, den you can fix up de Allies. 

ROSA — And then what? 

POLLY — Take de fust boat fur home. 

ROSA — But suppose there are some German soldiers 
to be care for. Would you let them die? 

POLLY — Honey I wouldn't frustrate no German plans. 
If he wants to die dat's his business. 

MR. C. — But the Red Cross relieves suffering where- 
ever it finds it. 

POLLY — Den let 'm go up in dem Flanders Fields, and 
all round whar dem German soldiers has been, and dey'l 
fine plenty to do widout wasten dey time foolishly. 

ROSA — I am afraid you are forgetting that pretty 
Bible quotation you mentioned a moment ago. 

POLLY — No, I ain't I sticks to my Bible. And if 
you'l read dat flotation* right you'l fine dat it suppotes my 
argument. 

ROSA — Let me see. The Bible says, "In as much as 
ye have done it unto one of the least of these" — see, it 
says the LEAST of these. 

POLLY — Well, you mought twist dat roun't to mean 
de Germans; for de Good Lawd knows deys li'l enuf, 
But go on wid de rest of it. 

ROSA — "The least of these, my brethren " 

POLLY— Da you is. "MY BRETHREN." Dat lets 'm 
out. Dey ain't no brethren of mine. 

MR. C. — But this is the good Lord talking, Polly. 

POLLY — Well, you may be right, but nobody but 
de good Lawd could feel dat way tow'ds 'm. 

ROSA — Now, Polly, if you were a Red Cross nurse 
and you found a German soldier in a dying condition 
you would do what you could for him, wouldn't you? 

POLLY — O yassam. Ef I found one tryin' to die I'd 
hep 'm out all I could. (Ex. L. Door bell R.) 

MR. C. — See who that is, please. 

ROSA — (Admits Mrs. Walton. R.) Why, it is mother. 
(Kisses her.) What are you doing in the city? 

MRS WALTON — -I came to see your patient and to 
bring him some of his favorite flowers. 

MR. C. — (Taking flowers.) O thank you, Mattie. I 
have been wishing for some of these flowers. They are 
from the old bush on the left side of the gate as you 
come out. 

MRS. W. — Yes, it is in full bloom now, and very 
pretty. 

MR. C. — I wish I could see it. Put them in water, 
Rosa, so they will stay fresh. (Ex. R. — L.) 

MRS. W. — You won't ever forget the farm, will you? 



Mr. C, — Forget it! Why, it grows dearer to me every 
day. I was thinking of the old place just before you 
came It. 

MRS. W. — (Smiling.) Were you thinking of the farm 
or the balance Bobby owes you on it. 

MR. C. — I am not worrying about that. Whether I 
live or die, Bobby will have all the time he needs to pay 
that. I was just thinking how I would enjoy a visit out 
there. 

MRS. W. — Can't you persuade Mrs. Carey to bring 
you out? I would be glad to have you come and stay 
as long as you wish. It mieht be good for you to get 
out in the country and rough it for a while. 

MR. C. — Mattie, would it greatly inconvenience you 
if we should accept this kind invite? 

MRS. W. — Not in the least. I have plenty of room 
and would be delighted to have you come out and keep 
me company while Bobby and Rosa are away. I will 
make home-folks of you and let you stay as long as you 
wish. 

MR. C. — And would you let me help you manage the 
farm ? 

MRS. W. — You do not know ho*w much help that would 
be to me. 

MR. C. — Well, I am going to find out; for we are 
coming if the Doctor will agree. When Bobby went to 
France I promised him I would look after you, and I am 
afraid I have not done that as I should; but if I get out 
there I will redeem myself. By the way, have you heard 
anything further from Bobby? 

MRS. C. — His nurse wrote me that he is able to sit 
up, but thinks he will have to undergo another operation 
before he is able to sail. Of course I don't know what 
that means, but I am hoping he will soon be able to come 
home. 

MR. C. — I hope so, too, for his sake and yours. And 
until he comes back I want you to let me know if there 
is anything I can do for him. 

MRS. W. — Thank you very much. He told me when 
he left to come to you if I needed advice; and that is 
why I came today. It is in regard to the farm he bought 
just before he enlisted. 

MR. C. — O yes. The Gerst place. I advised him to 
buy that. What is the trouble? 

MRS. W. — It is rumored in our community that the 
Mrs. Gerst from whom he bought the place is a German 
subject, and that she sold the property to evade the law. 

MR. C. — Nonsense. I know Mrs. Gerst and I believe 
she is a loyal American. Her husband was a citizen of 
the United States and a good one at that. He was my 
friend. And if I am not mistaken their son is in the 
American army. 

MRS. W. — I am sure there is some mistake somewhere ; 
but she went away after she sold the farm and I did 
not know how to get at the truth of the matter. Of 



course I would hate for anything of this kind to come up 
to mare the happiness of Bobby's home coming. 

MR. C. — Well now, you need not worry about that. 
I will have my lawyer look into the matter and take such 
steps as he may think necessary. 

MRS. W. — You do not anticipate any trouble, do you? 

MR. C. — O, not a bit. But if it proves to be alien prop- 
erty it should be reported to the custodian, and Bobby 
would be called upon to explain his connection with it. 
I do not believe this will be necessary; for I am sure 
everything will be found quite proper. 

MRS. W. — I do hope so, for it would hurt my boy to 
have his patriotism doubted in the least. 

MR. C. — Don't you worry about that. The people 
know that any boy who would Vv^aive his rightful exemp- 
tions and sacrifice his own interests, as your boy did, to 
go out and fight and all but die for his country, loves it 
out of the purest patriotism, and could never be guilty 
of shielding an enemy. 

MRS. W. — O, I know he is not guilty of anything like 
that; but it v/ould be so humiliating to have to disprove 
such a charge. 

MR. C. — You leave it all with me, Mattie; and do not 
let Bobby know anything about it. Everything will be 
all right, I assure you. 

MRS. W. — Thank you so much. I hope it won't be 
very much trouble to you. 

MR. C. — It won't be any trouble at all. It will be a 
great pleasure indeed to protect the interest and good 
name of an absent American soldier. Especially when 
that soldier's father was the best friend I ever had. 

MRS. W. — I know Bobby will appreciate anything you 
may do for him, and I assure you it is a great comfort 
to me to know that his interests will be in your hands. 
(Rising.) Goodby. If you decide to come out to the 
farm you will find a hearty welcome. 

MR. C. — I am coming if it can be arranged. 

ROSA — (L. With flowers in vase, and glass of medi- 
cine.) Are you going, mother? 

MRS. W. — Yes. Goodby. I will see you before you 
sail. 

ROSA — Goodby. (Ex. Mrs. W. — R. Rosa sets vase 
on table.) How is that? 

MR. C. — The flowers are very sweet, but I am not so 
sure about the stuff in that glass. 

ROSA — (Giving glass.) 0, it isn't so bad. 

MR. C. — (Drinks and frowns.) Br-r-r-r! No, that is, 
fine. 

ROSA — (Taking glass.) Will you have another one? 

MR. C. — I will not. 

DR. BRIGHTON— (Right.) Hello. 

MR. C.— Come in, William. 

DR. B. — How is our patient today, Rosa? 

ROSA — 0, I think he is much better. He complains 
at taking his medicine. 



DR. B. — (Sitting and feeling pulse.) That is a good 
sign. (To Mr. C.) Feeling better today, aren't you? 

MR. C. — Yes, and I want to get out of here. 

DR. B. — I see no reason why you shouldn't, provided 
you take care of yourself. (Ex. R. — L.) What you need 
now is plenty of good air and sunshine. If you could 
go some place where it is quiet and restful and forget 
about business you would feel like a different man. 

MR. C. — By George, that is what I wanted you to 
say. Mrs. Walton has just been here, and she invited 
me to come out and help her run the farm. It is exactly 
what I would like to do. 

DR. B. — That is your old home place, isn't it? 

MR. C. — Yes, and the only place on earth that really 
seems like home to me. When Ethelind's mother died 
I left it and came to the city, but I have always regarded 
it as home sweet home. 

DR. B. — That is the very place for you to go. And 
I advise you to make the change. Take as much interest 
in the farm management as you feel able to do without 
overtaxing your strength. Dr. Foster is still out there, 
and knows you better perhaps than I do. Just follow his 
advice and drink plenty of good buttermilk and you will 
make it fine. 

MR. C— I feel better already. 

DR. B. — I will run out occasionally and see how you 
are. 

MR. C. — I thought you were going to Europe. 

DR. B. — I am, but you will be here when I get back. 

DR. C. — I hope so, but we never know what will hap- 
pen. If I am not here I want you to see to it that the 
provisions of my will are rigidly enforced. 

DR. B. — I shall not fail you in that. 

MRS. CAREY — (Right, in hat and gloves.) Good 
morning. Dr. Brighton. • Are you scolding him for being 
out of bed. 

DR. B. — No, Mrs. Carey. I am sending him to the 
farm. 

MRS. C— To the farm! 

MR. C. — To the old home place. Mrs. Walton has in- 
vited us to come out. (Rising.) I am going to start 
packing now. I want to see you before you sail, Wil- 
liam. (Ex. L.) 

MRS. C. — Doctor Brighton! Please do not send us 
out to that desolate place. I simply cannot stand the 
country. What have I done to you that you should in- 
flict such punishment on me? 

DR. B. — You don't like the country? If I had a nice 
farm like Bobby Walton's I would throw this medicine 
case away and settle down to solid comfort for the rest 
of my life. It is the one truly great life, Mrs. Carey, 
and I am sure you would like it if you knew it better. 

MRS. C. — I do not want to know it better. Let me 
take him to the seashore where there is plenty of excite- 
ment. 

10 



DR. B. — Your husband is too old to play in the sand. 
What he needs is rest and contentment, and these he 
will find on the farm. 

MRS. C. — I wish you had consulted me about this 
matter before you advised this change. 

DR. B. — I thought you would be delighted. And I 
confess I am puzzled to understand your objection. 

MRS. C. — I could not make you understand why I do 
not want him to go to the Walton farm; but as a special 
favor to me I ask that you persuade him not to go. 

DR. B. — But I think it is best for him to go. 

MRS. C. — Then you refuse my request? 

DR. B. — Not exactly. But I refuse to sacrifice the 
health of my patient just to keep you from going to the 
country. Besides it isn't necessary for you to go. Let 
Ethelind take him. She would be glad to do it, I am sure. 

MRS. C. — That is the point exactly. If Mr. Carey goes 
she will jump at the chance to go with him and I do not 
want her to do that. 

DR. B. — O, you mean that she should not leave her 
Red Cross work here in the city. 

MRS. C. — Yes, ah, yes, yes. It wouldn't be right for 
her to leave the work just at this time, you know. 

DR. B. — There is Red Cross work to be done in the 
country, and I am sure Ethelind would find it; or, if not, 
she would help Mrs. Walton on the farm. 

MRS. C. — Ethelind does not have to work on the farm, 
you know. Dr. Brighton. 

DR. B. — I know that she is rich, and that she does 
not have to work on the farm or anywhere else. But I 
do not believe I misjudge her when I say she would be 
proud of such work, if she thought it would help her 
country. 

MRS. C. — O, for heaven's sake, won't the people ever 
learn that the war is over. What is peace for, if not to 
be enjoyed? 

DR. B. — You don't feel that way about it, do you? 

MRS. C. — I think it is much more sensible than so 
much talk about the debts of gratitude we owe. This 
ware was paid for as we went. 

DR. B. — Only the soldiers paid as they went. We 
who stayed at home paid but the first installment, and it 
would be a great mistake to ignore this fact. 

MRS. C. — This is a free country, and each person has 
a right to his own view. For my part I am willing to 
forget the war and stop prating about "carrying on." 

DR. B. — Mrs. Carey, the American people are today 
in full possession of the greatest opportunity any people 
ever had to show that we are not unmindful of the price 
that has been paid for our liberty and freedom: and I 
40 not believe we will ever forget that the war is over, 
or stop prating about carrying on, until we have given 
adequate expression of our gratitude to those men who 
gave, and those millions more who were willing to give 
the last full measure of their devotion. 

11 



MRS. C. — Have I said anything to cause you to feel 
that I do not agree with that sentiment? 

DR. B. — Your remarks made me think of the great 
danger that lies in forgetting the tragedy through which 
we have just passed. They were dark days, and only by 
remembering them can we fully appreciate the prospect 
of peace; and only by standing by the soldiers until they 
have been placed back on the paths from which they 
were called to make this prospect possible, can we prove 
ourselves worthy of the benefits they have secured for us. 

MRS. C. — That is a very nice argument, but what has 
it to do with sending Ethelind and Mr. Carey to the farm? 

DR. B. — Nothing at all, unless by going there they 
will be able to assist the mother of a soldier. 

MRS. C. — Then you are not sending Mr. Carey out 
there for his health. 

DR. B, — O yes I am. It won't hurt him to do a little 
kind deed on the side. I rather think he will enjoy it. 
And as for Ethelind, I predict she will fall so in love 
with the farm that she will want to say out there as long- 
as she lives. 

MRS. C. — Dr. Brighton, you are forcing me to take 
you into my confidence and tell you a family secret. 

Dr. B. — 0, please don't do that. I have more family 
secrets than I can keep now. If I could just trade fam- 
ily secrets for gasoline I would be all right. 

MRS. C. — I ani going to tell you one anyhow. We 
want Ethelind to marry Max Martin. 

DR. B. — What has Mr. Carey's going to the farm got 
to do with that? 

MRS. C. — You are very stupid, Doctor. Don't you 
know that I have a very hard time preventing Ethelind 
from marrying this Bobby Walton, and that if you send 
her into his home where she will be in touch with his 
interest, all that I can do will not prevent her from 
marrying him? 

DR. B. — I am afraid you do not know Bobby Walton. 

MRS. C. — O, he is very nice, in a way; but he will 
never be anything but a plodding farmer. Until this 
abominable war came up she regarded him only as a 
friend, and seemed pleased to respect my wishes con- 
cerning Max. But because Max had the good sense to 
remain at home and make money for her she regards 
him as a slacker, and seems to be drifting to this Bobby 
Walton. It is not love she feels for him. It is nothing 
but patriotic madness; and I very well know that these 
war flirtations will wear away as quickly as they came up. 

DR. B. — Then, why worry? 

MRS. C, — Simply because I think it is disgusting to 
see a girl disregard every duty she owes her parents and 
herself, and throw her happiness and her fortune away 
on someone who is undeserving. If you will help me' 
manage to keep her out of touch with this farm until 
her war fever cools off she will realize that I am right, 
and go ahead and marry Max as she should. 

12 



DR. B. — What is Mr. Carey's position in this matter? 

MRS. C— O, he thinks Ethelind does all things well, 

and would not have the courage to deny her anything 

she might ask of him. That is why I am driven to such 

extremes to do my duty to her. 

DR. B. — I do not blame you for doing what you con- 
ceive to be your duty. to Ethelind; but I do not see how 
it is possible for me to assist you. 

MRS. C. — You can assist me by advising her not to go. 

DR. B. — No, Mrs. Carey, I flatly refuse to do any- 
thing that might rob a wounded and helpless Liberty sol- 
dier of the protecting love of a loyal girl. 

MRS. C. — Then let me ask that you do not encourage 
her to love him, or to dislike Max. 

DR. B. — (Rising.) Mrs. Carey, I am a physician — 
not a matrimonial bureau. I shall have nothing to do 
with this love affair either one way or the other, except 
in so far as it interferes with my plain duty. And in 
this connection I feel that I ought to remind you that 
your husband is not going to live very long, and that it 
would be very unkind to trouble him with such matters. 
Just let the best man win. Good-day. (Ex. R.) 

MRS. C. — So. No help from that source. 

POLLY — (L.) Massar Carey said ax you whar his 
suit case is. We is gettin' ready to go to de farm. 

MRS. C. — We? Are you going with him? 

POLLY— Yassam. He said I could. 

MRS. C. — Of course you are the one to go with him. 
Why didn't I think of that. The suit case is in the trunk 
room. (Ex. Polly L.) Now it is easy sailing. 

MAX — (R.) Good evening, Auntie. Have I cought 
her at home this time. 

MRS. C. — No, Max, but she should be here soon. It 
is highly important that you see her at once. 

MAX — (Sitting.) Then I suppose it is another case 
of "watchful waiting." 

MRS. C. — And some real good scheming. Mr. Carey 
is going to the farm, and w^e must prevent Ethelind from 
going with him. 

MAX — I am willing. How can it be done? 

MRS. C. — Get her promise to marry you at once. 

MAX — It would be easier to let her go to the farm. 

MRS. C. — But it would not be as profitable to you. 
If you let her go out there you have lost her. 

MAX — Not on your life, Auntie. It is exactly as I 
would have it. According to plan, you maght say. 

MRS. C. — It is a very poor plan, Max, and I insist 
that you do not follow it. 

MAX — If you knew what I do you would not say that. 

MRS. C. — Is there any reason why I should not know? 

MAX — Certainly not. I came by especially to tell 
you that my suspicions concerning our friend Bobby 
Walton are correct. He did buy the Gerst property and 
the party from whom he bought is an alien. When I 



have finished with him he will know that he cannot pull 
off a stunt like that and hide it in a uniform. 

MRS. C. — Have you positive proof of this? 

MAX — Why, Auntie, haven't you learned that you 
do not need positive proof to create an impression? All 
I want to do is to raise the question and get the people 
to talking. 

MRS. C. — Have you told Ethelind this? 

MAX — She would not believe me. I think it much 
better to let her go to the farm and learn it from the 
neighbors. 

MRS. C. — Is it generally known out there? 

MAX — I hope those simple country people do not sus- 
pect anything of the kind; for I want to save it for the 
politican sensation of the year. 

MRS. C. — Political sensation! What do you mean? 

MAX — I mean that as a last desperate effort to , win 
Ethelind I am going to try for the congressional nomina- 
tion. 

MRS. C. — 0, how perfectly lovely! With an honor 
like that she cannot refuse you. 

MAX — I am hoping it will work, but if it fails I will 
at least have the satisfaction of making her hero less 
attractive to her. 

MRS. C. — I have no objection to that, but I do not see 
how it would aid you in getting the nomination. 

MAX — That is because you do not know that your 
dear husband is secretly doing everything he can to se- 
cure this nomination for our friend and rival, Bobby 
Walton. 

MRS. C. — It is an outrage. A disgraceful shame. I 
will not let him do it. 

MAX — Please, now, don't spoil my good scheme by 
letting him know that we are wise to his plans. Every- 
thing is just exactly as I want it, and I welcome the op- 
portunity to put Walton down and out of Ethelind's 
reach. Just let the matter rock along as if we knew 
nothing about it. At the proper time — which will be 
when it is too late for them to refute it — I v/ill spring 
the enemy property deal of Walton's and make him look 
like a German thrift stamp. Mr. Carey will drop him 
like he was hot, and his chances for getting the nomi- 
nation and marrying Ethelind will be about as good — 
well, as good as mine seem to be at present- 

MRS. C. — I am afraid you are too hopeful. Max. There 
are too many things that could happen to your plan. 

MAX — What, for instance? 

MRS. C. — Well, in the first place, I think there is very 
great danger of driving Ethelind to Walton's defense. 
If you do that she will stand by him to the last, and 
then sink or swim with him. 

MAX — Not if the whole country is pointing the finger 
of suspicion at him, will she? 

MRS. C. — Probably not, but I am not so sure that you 

14 



will succeed at that. You must not forget that he has 
the advantage of service and wound stripes. 

MAX — And you must not forget that I am going to 
make the people believe he is using these very stripes 
to hide a shady transaction. You do not understand 
the psychology of my plan. 

MRS. C. — I understand enough to know that the 
slightest failure in such a plan will place you beyond 
redemption, and I sincerely hope you will not use it 
until you have exhausted every other means to make 
Ethelind marry you before Bobby Walton comes back. 
I hear her coming now. See if you cannot persuade her 
not to go to the farm. (Ex. L.) 

ETHELIND — (R. With hat, as from the street.) Why, 
hello. Max. 

MAX — Hello, Ethelind. I dropped in to tell you some 
good news. 

ETH. — (Sitting.) What is it. Have you made some 
more money. 

MAX — That isn't what I wanted to tell you; but you 
may be glad to know that the committee appointed to 
investigate our profits on the war contract have reported 
that they could find nothing to indicate that we took 
more than is justified by the exigencies of war. 

ETH. — How much does this mean to you? 

MAX — One hundred thousand dollars. 

ETH. — Are you sure that you have earned that much. 

MAX — Well, I couldn't say I have sweated it our ex- 
actly. 

ETH. — Then you haven't earned it. 

MAX — The Government is paying for brains as well 
as muscle, you know. 

ETH.— (Smiling.) Evidently . 

MAX— (Waits.) Now should I be insulted? 

ETH. — No. I think you should feel complimented 
to be able to sell your brain at such a price. What will 
you take for your soul, Max? 

MAX — O, come, Ethelind. War must be financed and 
managed as any other big business. The government 
sent the men who had nothing but brawn into the trenches 
and placed those of us with brains behind the desks. You 
seem to forget that it is just as honorable to direct the 
millions as it is to be one of them. 

ETH. — O, certainly; but it does not follow that the 
directors must make fortunes out of their services, when 
the men who actually do the fighting must make sacri- 
fices even of what they have. 

MAX — You would make a great Bobhevist. 

ETH. — Never. It is Profiteers like you who make Bol- 
shevists. 

MAX — Now, Ethelind, I know that you are not a 
Bolshevist, and I do not want you to think I am a Profi- 
teer. I am making lots of money, it is true; but it is all 
for you. 

ETH. — I would rather you had less money, Max, and 

15 



a deeper sense of duty to your county. I have told you 
this many times, but it seems to have no effect on you. 
I have tried to justify your position and see the matter 
as you want me to, but I find it impossible to avoid the 
conclusion that you are feathering your nest with the 
eagle's wings. It will never bring you happiness or com- 
fort. It can only bring disappointment and disrespect, 

MAX — Where did you get that argument? 

ETH. — It isn't an argument. It is my honest convic- 
tion. 

MAX — Then what would you have me do? 

ETH. — If it is impossible for you to have anything to 
do with these war contracts without making fortunes out 
of them I think it is your plain duty to square yourself 
with your fellowman by turning a fair part of these 
profits back to them in the form of contributions to safe- 
guard the interests they have bled and died for. 

MAX — Then you do not consider the service I have 
given as worth anything. 

ETH. — I don't say that exactly, but I do think your 
service has been worth more to you than to your coun- 
try; and for that reason I cannot consider it any service 
at all. 

MAX — When you get through preaching at me I am 
going to tell you something that will please you very 
much. 

ETH. — I am through. What is it? 

MAX — It is a secret, but I want you to know it. I 
am going to try for the Congressional nomination. 

ETH.— You are? 

MAX — And I am doing it solely for you. 

ETH. — Why do you say that? 

MAX — Because I want to see you in Washington so- 
ciety where you belong. 

ETH. — That would be very nice, but I don't want you 
to do this just for me. 

MAX — Who else would I want to share such an honor 
with me? 

ETH. — Somebody who loves you, Max. I can never 
be anything but your friend, wishing you good luck in 
everything you undertake that is right. 

MAX — You don't mean to say you will never marry 
me. 

ETH. — Have I ever given you cause to feel otherwise? 

MAX — I have always hoped you would, and I am still 
going to depend on you. Some of these days you are 
going to find out that all brave men did not go to war, 
and that not all men in uniform are heroes. 

ETH. — I know that much already. 

MAX — Then why are you so crazy over a uniform? 

ETH. — If I had time, and felt like it, I would explain 
that to you. But I am too tired to undertake it now. 

MAX — Why are you so tired? 

ETH. — Well, Max, you see I am crazy about a Uni- 
form that I just love to work down at the Red Cross 

16 



Canteen where I can hand out doughnuts and sandwiches 
to every one I see. And occasionally I have the pleasure 
of writing a card for some poor fellow who gave his 
writing hand for Liberty. O, it is a great way to go 
crazy, and I wish you were not so sane that you cannot 
sympathize with it. 

MAX — I am in hearty sympathy with such work as 
that, and I hope you will stay in the city and continue it. 

ETH. — If I give it up it will be for something more 
important. 

MAX — Do you think going to the country with your 
father is more important than the Red Cross work? 

ETH. — I will have to talk with father before I can 
answer that question. He is my guide in such matters, 
and I always follow his advice. 

MAX — I don't blame you; for he always lets you have 
your way; but I want you to remember that I advised 
you not to go. 

ETH. — If we do go I hope you will run out to see us 
occasionally. (Max rises.) And let us know how your 
race for congress is getting along. (Rises.) 

MAX — I may be around that way before long, and 
of course I will want to see you. In the meantime think 
over what I have said. Goodby. (Ex. R.) 

MRS. C— (L.) Where is Max? 

ETH. — He has just gone. He is on his way to Con- 
gress. 

MRS. C. — I am so glad he has decided to make the 
race. Aren't you. 

ETH. — O yes, but I was much more pleased to hear 
that we are going to the farm. 

MRS. C. — Who told you that? 

ETH. — Dr. Brighton, and then Max. And Max was 
kind enough to say he thought I should not go. 

MRS. C. — He was right, dear. It would be better to 
send Polly with your father. You and I will stay here 
and have a big time keeping house. We can't all go. 
I wouldn't think of taking you away from your Red 
Cross work at this time. 

ETH. — This is not the only place they do Red Cross 
work. Out on the farm I can help in lots of ways. And 
besides it wouldn't be right to let Daddy go alone. 

MRS. C. — He will have Polly and the nurse. 

ETH. — But if I go with him the nurse can go over- 
seas and help the wounded soldiers. 

MRS. C. — O, for heaven's sake,' Ethelind, there are 
other people besides the soldiers. 

ETH. — (Going L.) But there are none so deserving. 

MRS. C. — Sit down, Ethelind. I have something im- 
portant to say to you. 

ETH.— (Coming back.) What is it? 

MRS. C. — I want to remind you that you are not 
treating Max right. Why do you neglect him so. 

ETH. — Now, mother, please let's not go into that sub- 

17 



ject. again. You know how I feel about Max, and so 
does he. It is useless for you to urge him on me. 

MRS. C. — I feel that it is my duty to do so. 

ETH. — Your duty to whom, Max? 

MRS. C. — To both of you, dear. And I want you to 
look at this matter from every standpoint before you 
make your decision, and be certain that you make no 
mistake. 

ETH. — I think I have already done that. 

MRS. C. — Are you fully decided? 

ETH. — I think I am, but I want to talk to daddy be- 
fore I answer you. 

MRS. C. — Your father is too indulgent to advise you. 
He thinks everything you do is right, and would let you 
have your way, even tho he knew it was not best for 
you. Now I am looking at this matter with nothing to 
prevent me from seeing your best interest. 

ETH. — I appreciate your interest, mother, but I might 
as well tell you that I do not appreciate so much propa- 
ganda in Max's behalf. You must leave me to make my 
own choice. 

MRS. C. — I want you to do that, but I want you to 
choose with your eyes open. That is why I trouble you 
so much. 

ETH. — I do not think I am so blind that I cannot see 
my way. But, of course, if you can give me any good 
reason why Bobby Walton is not just as worthy as Max, 
I shall give it every consideration. 

MRS. C. — There is every reason why you should pre- 
fer Max. 

ETH. — Name one. 

MRS. C. — In the first place Bobby Walton is nothing 
but a farmer, and will never be anything else. 

ETH. — He won't be put in jail for that, will he? 

MRS. C. — I want you to be serious. 

ETH. — Then don't tell me that farmers must not have 
wives. 

MRS. C. — I do not say that. Let them marry girls 
who have no higher ambitions than being buried alive 
out in the desolate weeds of discontent. 

ETH. — 0, I do feel that way about the farm. To me 
it is a dear old place brimming full of happiness and 
self-respect. Out there one sees things grow, and in- 
stead of the little bickerings of fickle society, one hears 
the music of contented creatures that really live. O, I 
think it would be grand to live on a nice farm that is well 
managed by a gentleman. What is the next reason? 

MRS. C. — The next reason is that Bobby will probably 
be an invalid all of his life, and you would only be a 
slave to him. Instead of your ideal farm life you will 
find after a while only bitter disappointment. Then you 
will wish you had been more sensible. 

ETH. — Mother, let me tell you something. If Bobby 
is never to enjoy good health again there is nothing in 
the wold I would rather do than to spend the rest of my 

18 



life trying to show him how much I revere* his scars. 
Our boys left a land flowing with milk and honey and 
went into the teeth of death to stanch the blood that 
was flowing from the heart of the world. They did this, 
thank God, and now they are coming back, some of them 
bruised and broken, to start life over again. Would you 
let them feel that we who applauded their going are not 
still standing on the home shore with those same hands 
out-stretched to them in holy gratitude? 

MRS. C. — Certainly we should be grateful, but it dies 
not follow that we should be foolish. 

ETH. — (Rising and going. L.) Call it what you will, 
mother, gratitude, or foolishness. I am for the soldiers. 

MRS. C. — So am I, but I think the government, and 
not you, should provide the pensions for them. 

ETH. — Feel about it as you will, and call it what you 
will, but there is at least one soldier who will come back 
and find the promise made him holds good. And if he 
has no arms to throw round me I can at least lean against 
him and feel that what is left of him is every inch a 
man. 

CURTAIN. 



ACT II. 

SCENE — Plain room at the home of the Waltons, one 
month later. Mrs. Carey seated center reading. (Polly 
R.) 

MRS. C. — Must I wait all day for my breakfast, Polly? 

POLLY — 'Scuse me. Missus. I thot I'd get back afore 
you got up. 

MRS. C. Where have you been? 

POLLY — Up to de graveyard, helpin' Miss Ethelind 
and Miss Mattie set some rose bushes round Massar 
Carey's grave. You ought to see how pretty it looks. 

MRS. C. — I am going up there today before we start 
back. 

POLLY — We aint goin' back to Richmond today is we? 

MRS. C. — If I have my way we are. 

POLLY — Is Miss Ethelind gwine too? 

MRS. C. — If she is sensible she will. 

POLLY — I ain't sayin' she ain't sensible, but I got 
a notion she gwine to be hard to git away fum here. 

MRS. C. — What makes you think that? 

POLLY — Jes' her gen'l conduc'. 

MRS. C. — Miss Ethelind's general conduct is going to 
improve from now on, Pollly. She won't have her way 
as easily as she did when her father was alive. 

POLLY — We's all gwine to miss dat good man, ain't 
we? 

MRS. C. — O, yes, but it won't do any good to remain 
out here. You hurry my breakfast and then start pack- 



19 



ing. Mr. Martin will be here this morning, and we must 
be ready to return with him. 

POLLY — He's settin' out on de po'ch now. 

MRS. C. — Why didn't you invite him in? 

POLLY — I thot he knowed what he was doin'. (Ex. 
R.) 

MAX — (R.) Good morning, Auntie. 

MRS. C. — Why, good morning, Max. How long have 
you been waiting? 

MAX — Not long. I have been sitting on the porch 
enjoying the view. It is splendid. I am not surprised 
that Mr. Carey thought so much of this old farm. 

MRS. C. — Now, Max, don't you fall in love with it. 
After all it is just a farm. Your job is to get Ethelind 
away from here as soon as possible. 

MAX — I have a great plan, Auntie. It has occurred 
to me that possibly it is the farm and not Bobby Walton 
that Ethelind loves. So I have decided to own the farm. 

MRS. C. — But you cannot take it away from him. 

MAX — I think I can. (Produces large envelope.) Here 
is a little instrument with which I hope to take possession 
of this farm in such a way as to make it appear to Wal- 
ton that Ethelind cares nothing for him. It is a mort- 
gage covering a large overdue balance on the farm, and 
I am going to demand settlement at once. 

MRS. C. — That is lucky. Where did you get it? 

MAX — I found it in Mr. Carey's private papers. I 
forgot to tell you that I was appointed administrator of 
his estate yesterday. 

MRS. C. — 0, I am glad of that. I was afraid when 
his vault was opened a will would be discovered. 

MAX — Well, Auntie, where there is a WILL there is 
also a WAY, you know. And in this case I prefer the 
WAY. 

MRS.- C. — Then there was a will? 

MAX — A very proper ones, to be sure, making our 
friend. Dr. Brighton, Executor without bond. He is at 
present in Europe on a government inspection of hos- 
pitals and will be there at least three months. This 
gives me an open road to proceed as administrator. 

MRS. C. — But, Max, it is dangerous to undertake a 
thing like that. Suppose the will is found. 

MAX — Have no fear of that. I have placed it well 
out of the way where no one will find it. And when I 
tell you that in a recent codicil to that will this mortgage 
was given to Ethelind to do with as she pleased you will 
agree that it would be 'better not to burden her with 
such a responsibility. 

MRS. C. — I do agree with you. It is an absurdity. 
He might as well have willed his daughter to him and 
been done with it. 

MAX — And to make certain that the will and mort- 
gage did not become separated he sealed them in this 
envelope and marked it important. It was a very pretty 
scheme, but we shall see who scheme best. With this 

20 



mortgage I shall not fail to make it appear to Mrs. Wal- 
ton that it is impossible for them to hold this farm. 

MRS. C. — She can force you to wait until her son 
comes home, can't she? 

MAX — I am going to offer her more than they have 
paid on the farm and take it back. This will get rid of 
them, and incidentally leave the impression on Walton 
that Ethelind sanctions our action. O, it's a long scheme, 
Auntie, and you must leave it to me. Just sit still and 
don't rock the boat, and everything will work out as we 
wish it. 

POLLY — (L.) Yo' breakfast am served, Missus. 

MRS. C. — Polly, if Mrs. Walton has returned ask her 
to come in here, please. (Ex. P. — L.) Now, Max, please 
do not do anything that will get us into trouble. And 
above all things do not make the mistake of taking a 
position you cannot defend. 

MAX — Leave it all to me and I will show you more 
diplomacy than has been displayed at the Peace Con- 
ference, and a much quicked settlement of the spoils. 

MRS. C. — I am trusting you to take care of my in- 
terests as well as yours. Mrs. Walton is coming. (Goes 
A., admitting her.) Mrs. Walton, meet my nephew, Mr. 
Martin. 

MRS. W. — How do you do, Mrs. Martin. 

MAX — I am pleased to meet you, Mrs. Walton. 

MRS. C. — Mr. Martin has been appointed administra- 
tor of Mr. Carey's estate and wishes to see you in regard 
to a very important matter that concerns your son. 

MRS. W. — I am sorry he is not here to speak for him- 
self, but perhaps I can give you the information you 
desire. 

MAX — When do you expect him home? (Ex. Mrs, 
C— L.) 

MRS. W. — I had a letter yesterday stating that he is 
taking a special treatment now and expects to be able 
to start for home in about sxity days. 

MAX — I am sorry he will be delayed like that; for it 
forces me to do a very unpleasant duty. 

MRS. W.— What is that? 

MAX — It is in connection with this mortgage. There 
is a balance of five thousand dollars due on it, and as 
administrator it is my duty to demand immediate pay- 
ment. 

MRS. W. — Is it impossible to let this matter wait until 
my son comes home and can give it his attention? 

MAX — You can compel me to do that, of course; but 
I hope we may be able to come to some settlement that 
will be more pleasant to all concerned. 

MRS. W. — The only really pleasant way to settle such 
a matter would be to pay what is due; but I cannot do 
that unless I can sell a little farm Bobby bought just 
before he went to France. 

MAX — You mean the Gerst property? 

21 



MRS. W. — Yes. That will bring enough to pay this 
mortgage, won't it? 

MAX — As your friend I advise you not to try to raise 
any money on that property. 

MRS. W. — Why do you say that? 

MAX — Because it is enemy alien property, and your 
son is going to be very lucky if he is not exposed and 
punished for his connection with it. 

MRS. W. — You are wrong about that. Mr. Carey had 
his lawyer investigate the title, and he reported that it 
was perfectly good. 

lil/iX — It may be, but I would not have it in my name 
for five times what it is worth. It is none of my busi- 
ness, but I feel that I ought to advise you to urge your 
son to remain in France for a while if he does not want 
to be arrested and tried as soon as he comes home. 

MRS. W. — O, Mr. Martin, that would kill him. Isn't 
there anyway it could be avoided? 

MAX — Let me advise you, Mrs. Walton. 

MRS. W. — I would appreciate it so much. 

MAX — Looking at this matter from your standpoint, 
and considering that it would be very unkind to your 
son even if he could come home, to permit him in his 
present condition to try to earn the money to pay this 
heavy obligation, I do not hesitate to say to you that 
it would be far better for him to sell the farm and take 
life easy. And to show you how sincere I am about 
this, and because I desire to help you do the best thing 
for him, I will return you in cash the ten thousand dol- 
lars he has paid on it and an additional five thousand 
dollars, if he will give me immediate possession. With 
this amount of money you can give him every comfort 
as long as he lives and it will be much better for him 
than being burdened with a large debt. 

MRS. W. — You are very- kind, Mr. Martin, and I shall 
write Bobby at once what you say. 

MAX — And tell him I am offering the extra high price 
because Ethelind wants me to give her the farm as a 
wedding present. 

MRS. W. — Is that so? You are getting a fine girl, 
Mr. Martin, and I v/ish you the greatest happiness. 

MAX — Thank you. Don't let her know I told you. 
We are keeping it a secret for a while yet. 

MRS. W. — I promise; but it is a temptation to let 
her know how much she can beat you keeping a secret. 

MAX — I have not told anyone bu you, and I did that 
because I wanted you to know my special interest in the 
farm. And as a special favor to me I ask that you do 
not let Ethelind know that I am trying to get it for her. 
I want it to be a surprise, you understand. 

MRS. W. — It is going to be a great disappointment to 
Bobby, but when he learns that Ethelind wishes to re- 
possess her father's old home place I am sure he will 
be willing to make any sacrifice to please her. 

MAX — She has a great sentiment for the place and 

22 



I sincerely hope it can be arranged for her to hold the 
deed to it. I think she had this in her mind when she 
buried her father out here. 

MRS. W. — Yes, I heard him say he wanted to be 
buried here where she could care for his grave. 

MAX — Of course he would never have said that if he 
had not felt that she would own the property. I think 
you understand perfectly why I am so interested. And 
I appreciate your sympathy with my plans. Just set 
the facts before your son and let me know his decision. 
I am prepared to pay the fifteen thousand in cash as 
soon as you are ready. 

MRS. W. — I will write him today. 

MAX — Let's cable him. I will pay the charges. 

MRS. W. — Could we make him understand that way? 

MAX — O, certainly. (Takes up mortgage, smiling.) 
"We will write it out here on this old mortgage. (Wites 
and reads.) "Capt. Bobby Walton." What is his ad- 
dress? 

MRS. W. — Base Hospital No. 19, Paris France. 

MAX — "Mr. Carey dead. Administrator demands set- 
tlement of mortgage; or offers fifteen thousand dollars 
in cash for your equity. I advise selling, at Ethelind 
wishes to repossess place. Above offer is made by her 
fiance. Answer quick. Mother." This is clear, isn't it? 

MRS. W. — Yes, I think he will understand that. 

MAX — If he accepts my offer you let me know and 
I will run out and close the deal. 

MRS. C. — (L.) Is the business session over? 

MAX — yes, and we have had a delightful chat. It 
is very pleasant to do business with reasonable people 
like Mrs. Walton. And now if Ethelind is ready we 
will start for Richmond. 

MRS. W. — Won't you stay for dinner? 

MAX — No, thank you, Mrs. Walton. I must hurry 
back to meet a very important engagement. 

MRS. W. — I will tell Ethelind you are waiting. (Ex. 
— L.) 

MAX — Everything is lovely. And now we have noth- 
ing to do but get Ethelind away from here. 

MRS. C. — What if she refuses to go? 

MAX — She is not going to do that. You go and be 
getting ready. I want to talk to her alone. (Ex. Mrs. 
C— L.) 

ETH. — (R.) Good morning. Max. 

MAX — Good morning, Ethelind. I am sorry to trouble 
you with business matters, but it is necessary that you 
^nd your mother return to Richmond with me and aid 
me in closing up your father's estate. 

ETH. — I thought such matters were taken care of by 
a will, or something like that. 

MAX — Usually they are, but in the absence of a will 
an administrator must be appointed to take charge. I 
have been honored with this appointment and I assure 
you it is a very great pleasure to me to be able assist 

23 



you in this way. I have given up my race for Congress 
so that I can place myself entirely at your service. 

ETH. — I do not want you to make such a sacrifice. 

MAX — It is no sacrifice. It is a great pleasure to stand 
by you when you need a friend, and I hope you will feel 
free to call on me for any advivce and help I can give 
you. 

ETH. — I shall be in great need of advice; for I know 
absolutely nothing at all about business matters. But 
I want you to understand before you go into this that 
I accept the servvice as that of a friend, and with the 
understanding that you will receive the usual compensa- 
tion for what you do. 

MAX — We won't fall out about the terms. All I ask 
is that you go back to Richmond with your mother and 
me today and let me help you all I can. 

ETH. — Is it really necessary for me to go? 

MAX — (Smiling.) If it it wasn't I wouldn't ask it. 

ETH. — (Rising.) If you are willing to do so much 
for me I surely will help you all I can. I will be ready 
in just a minute. (Goes L.) 

MAX — (Going R.) I will change tires while you are 
getting ready. (Ex. R.) 

POLLY — (L.) You ain't gwine wid 'm, is you. Miss 
Ethelind? 

ETH.— I think it is best. 

POLLY — Now I's sorry 'bout dat, 'cause I done 
bragged dat you'd stay out here. 

ETH. — You stay and help Mrs. Walton. I will return 
just as soon as I have found my father's will. 

CURTAIN. 
ACT III. 



SCENE^Hospital in France. Next day. Bobby 
seated center dressed as soldier, except bathrobe instead 
of coat. Towel round throat as if Henry had just been 
shaving him. Henry drying razor, etc. 

BOBBY — You are a pretty good barber, Henry. 
. HENRY — Yassar. Dat was my business before I was 
invited to join Uncle Sam's house party over here in 
Europe. 

BOBBY — And you have a good razor, too. 

HENRY — Yassar, it is. It have got me out of some 
mighty tight places. When it comes to a "close up" dis 
razor have got a hand grenade skinned a mile. You ax 
dem Germans. 

BOBBY — What do they know about it? 

HENRY — Nuffin much, cept'n I can give 'm a haircut 
and a shave all at one swipe. 

BOBBY — It must be a good one. 
. HENRY — Yassar. It am a good one. I cut de Hin- 

24 



denburg line wid dis razor. Dat was when we took de 
melon away from Germany. 
BOBBY— Melon! 

HENRY — Yassar. Watermelon. I's speakin' of 
France. 

BOBBY — I am afraid Frence would not like your 
simile. 

HENRY — Well, now, Mr. Bobby, you stop and think. 
France am a whole lot like a watermelon. She got a 
heart, ain't she? 

BOBBY— A great heart, yes. 

HENRY — And she got juice, ain't she? 

BOBBY— Plenty of it. 

HENRY — Yassar, and good juice, too. Well, we done 
give her de Rhine. Don't dat make a melon? 

BOBBY— Did you see that Rhine? 

HENRY — I went fishin' in it. And I caught enough 
German carp for de whole Allied fo'ces. 

BOBBY — You must have used Limburger cheese for 
bait. 

HENRY — No, I didn't. I got a better scheme 'n dat. 

BOBBY — You didn't use hand grenades, did you. 

HENRY— No sah. I got a better scheme 'n dat. Wid 
my secret process you don't have to git yo' feet wet. 

BOBBY — Well, tell me how you caught them. 

HENRY — I learned it fum mammy down in Virginny. 
When she goes fishin' she alius ties a little piece of red 
flannel jes' above her hook. She says it 'tracts attention. 
Well, sir, I don dat, and when I thowed my hook into 
date Rhine dem succors thought it wus de American flag, 
and ever las' one of dem come rat out on de bank and 
surrendered. 

BOBBY — That is a pretty good one. 

HENRY — I's got a lot of good ones to tell dem nig- 
gers what stayed at home and don't know nuffin'. And 
say, Mr. Bobby, when is we gwine to be demoralized, 
anyhow? 

BOBBY — Demoralized ! 

HENRY— Yessar. Discharged. 

BOBBY — 0, you mean demobilized. 

HENRY — Ain't dat what I said. 

BOBBY — Are you anxious to be demoralized? 

HENRY — Now, Cap'n, I cain't tell you no lie. I sut- 
tinly wouldn't pull back none if dey wus to try to put 
me on a transpo'te headed for God's country. 

BOBBY — Are you homesick? 

HENRY — I's de homesickest nigger in Europe. 

BOBBY— I don't know about that. 

HENRY — Well, if you is any sicker 'n I is I feel sorry 
for you. And I hopes when I sails it'l be jes' at sun- 
down on a clear day. 

BOBBY — I have thought I would like to start home 
just as the sun is setting; but who told you home is in 
the setting sun? 

HENRY — I found dat out de evenin' afore we went 

25 



into battle de fust time. We wus tired en lonesome, and 
I got to thinkin' 'bout home. Den I 'membered I didn't 
eben know which way to look tow'd home. I axed a offi- 
cer if he'd tell me, and he said, "Nigger, see dat settin' 
sun? Dat's home," And den he blowed his nose rat 
quick and told me to go to hell. And ever since dat I 
ain't let a sun go down onless I tried to feel dat I was 
on a boat a-sailin' rat squar' to de end of dat glorified 
path. 

BOBBY — Are you married, Henry? 

HENRY — No, sir, but I specs to be when I gets back, 
case I figger all dem gals '1 be wild over dis uniform. 
(Stands erect, hand on bedal. Bobby sees it.) 

BOBBY — Is that a decoration you are wearing? 

HENRY — Yassar. And I wus beginnin' to think you'd 
never see it. I's proud o' dat. 

BOBBY — Sit down and tell me how you got it. 

HENRY — Thank you, sah. It was up dar in one of 
dem towns what you got to say under yo' tongue and 
thru yo' nose. We wus fightin' alongside a bunch of de 
gamest white boys in dis whole army — dat scrappin' 
Thirtieth. Dat thirtieth and dat Twenty-seventh sho' am 
two fire eatin' bunches, Mr. Bobby. Dey's de ones what 
made de Fo'teen Points look so all fired acceptable, you 
know. 

BOBBY — Yes, I think they colored them up consider- 
ably. 

HENRY — Well, we wus down-^^in de trenches — some 
prayin' and some shootin' craps-^waitin' for Mr. Zero. 
Every big gun we had, and all we could borrow, was givin' 
tongue, and de noise made dem trenches rock and swell 
jes' lack dat big boat did comin' over. Finally de order 
cum and over we went. For a while we jes' jockeyed 
along behin' our barage, and de goin' was REASONABLY 
good. But all of a sudden dat barage lifted disap- 
peared vanished, and lef us in de middle of de biggest 

cuttin', and shootin', and strickin' scrap DE WORLD 
HAVE EVER SEEN. Lemme stop rat here and ax you 
a question. 

BOBBY — All right. What is it? 

HENRY— Why do dey ever lift dat barage, anyHOW? 

BOBBY — Why, that is Military Science, Henry. 

HENRY — It may be Military Science, Mr. Bobby, but 
it sho' am de debil on de Infuntry. 

BOBBY — Go on and tell me how you got the Cross. 
You had the barage curtain up and you were on the 
stage where all the men were actors. 

HENRY — Yassar. Dat's right. And my bayonet had 
its exits and its entrances, and I played many parts. 

BOBBY — You know some Shakespeare, don't you? 

HENRY — Boss, you jes' naturally got shake a spear 
in a case like dat. Well, sir, I thought my time had come 
sho'. It got so bote dat I reached in my pocket and got 
dem dice and thowed 'm away. 

BOBBY — It must have been hot. 

26 



HENRY — I'm tellin' you it was. Why, dat bunch of 
niggers finally got so hot dat dem Germans had to put 
on dey gas masks Den we stopped to rest. 

BOBBY— What did you stop for? 

HENRY — We run out of Germans And whilst I was 

restin' one of dem big German shells pulls up alongside 
of me and turns de eath over on me. I scratched out 
and set down on dat new pile of dirt jes* a minute. 'Bout 
dat time I felt somethin' hot runnin down my side. 
**Bleedin' to def," I says to myself. I knowed dat if 1 
didn't get back to dat hawspital 'bout fo' miles to de 
rear, mighty quick, dat Uncle Sam 'd be minus a mighty 
good soldier. 'Bout dat time de shadow of a Benzine 
Bat come along. 

BOBBY— What is a Benzine Bat? 

HENRY — Dat's a Airplane. And de shadow of it 
come along and it was headed rat squar' tow'ds my OB- 
jective. (Sighs.) Well, Mr. Bobby, I'm tellin' you 
straight. My feet jes' natully stepped on dat shadow 
and away I went. Up hill and down hill, me and dat 
shadow had it. I made it all rat, 'ceptin' once when we 
come to a river. Of cose he had de vantage of me den, 
but he seen m^ trouble and looped de loop a couple of 
times whilst I caught up. After dat I stayed rat on dat 
shadow ontil we pulled up at dat hawspital. 

BOBBY — Do you mean to tell me that you ran all 
the way to that hospital? 

HENRY— No sir. I didn't run. I FLEW. 

BOBBY — Why didn't you take one of the ambulances 
that passed you on the road? 

HENRY — Didn't no ambulances pass me. Dat shadow 
was a heap faster'n any ambulance. 

BOBBY — Did they find you seriously wounded? 

HENRY — Jes' a compound fraction of de skull, was 
all. 

BOBBY — I thought you said it was your side. 

HENRY — No sir. My side was alrat. Dat was jes' 
sweat I felt runnin' down my side. I want hut at all. 

BOBBY — But your head. You say it was hurt. 

HENRY — Not when I started dat retreat, it want. 

BOBBY — Then when were you wounded? 

HENRY — Well, you see, Mr. Bobby, dat airplane was 
goin' to dat same hawspital, en I jes' neglected to git 
off'n de shadow in time for it to light. 

BOBBY — They didn't give you a medal for a stunt 
like that, did they? 

HENRY — Indeed dey didn't. Dey waited ontil it was 
dark as a stack of blind black cats, and tole me if I'd 
repo'te to my Top Sargeant afore sun-rise, dey'd call 
it squar'. I went back and rambled roun' in dat No Man's 
Lan' all dat never-to-be-disremembered night. And lem- 
me tell you somepin'. It takes a BRAVE man to do dat. 

BOBBY — I should think so. But how much further 
is it to where you got that medal? 

HENRY — Jes' about a kilometer. 

27 



BOBBY — Well, hurry on. It is nearly time to have 
my wound dressed. 

HENRY — Then we'll skip a lot of blood-curdlin' ad- 
ventures out in dat No Man's Lan,' and come to de pint. 
At day break I hadn't found my gang and I fell down in 
a shell hole to spen' de day. Purty soon I heard some- 
body callin', "Buddie, Buddie!" I knowed he was hut 
mighty bad, and I crawled over to 'm. And he was 
purty nigh done wid. He tole me how to go, and I took 
him on my back and crawled out wid him. 

BOBBY — Were you wounded^ in the attempt? 

HENRY — Or, no sir. I was wounded in de leg. And 
it sho' did hurt to crawl on dat knee after dat. But I 
got him back to his men. He was dey Lieutenant. He 
got a medal, too. 

BOBBY— He did? 

HENRY — Yassar. He got one for goin' out dar and 
I got one for bringin' him back. Dat's a purty good 
system, ain't it? 

BOBBY — Yes, it works both ways. 

HENRY— (Rising.) Well, Mr. Bobby, I'll be goin'. 
If you gits back home before I do tell mammy I's comin' 
jes' as soon as de good Lawd and Gen'l Pershing am 
willin'. 

BOBBY— All right. Be patient, Henry. We will get 
back home sometime I hope. Come back to see me when 
you can. 

HENRY — Thank you, sah. I'll be back. Goodby. 
(Ex. L.) 

ROSA — (R.) I have some very bad news for you. 

BOBBY — What is it, Rosa? Must I have another 
operation? 

ROSA — It isn't that. Mr. Carey is dead. 

BOBBY — Then I have lost the best friend I ever had. 

ROSA — You have lost more than that. (Hands cable.) 

BOBBY — (Reads and waits short space.) You are 
right, Rosa. I have lost everything. But it is hard for 
me to believe that Ethelind could find it in her heart 
to punish me like this when I am so utterly friendless 
and alone. The last words she ever said to me were, 
''While you are away remember when you come back 
you will find me standing by." I am sorry she did not 
let me cling to that promise until I am better able to 
give it up. 

ROSA — Maybe there is some mistake. 

BOBBY — Mother sent this massage, and she never 
makes a mistake like that. Don't hold out a false hope 
for me; for I am not strong enough to be disappointed 
again. Just hurry down to the cable office and send 
this answer: (Rosa writes as he dictates.) "Accept of- 
fer and come to me at once." 

ROSA — But we will be going home very soon. 

BOBBY — I think I would be happier in a strange land 
for a while, and I will have to feel very different towards 
my home country if I ever see it again. 

28 



ROSA — Now, Bobby, don't say that. Take my advice 
and let the matter wait until you get home. 

BOBBY — No. Go and send the message as I have 
told you. 

ROSA — (Going R.) I will do as you say, but I feel 
certain it is not the right thing to do. 

DR. B. — (R.) Well, well, well. At last I have found 
you. 

ROSA — (Elated.) Dr. Brighton. What are you do- 
ing here? 

DR. B. — Looking up my friends. (Going to Bobby.) 
How are you, my boy? 

BOBBY— (Sadly.) O, very well. Dr. Brighton. I am 
glad to see you, 

DR. B. — I am glad you say so, for you don't look it. 
But when I tell you what the head surgeon says about 
you going home you will be more pleased to see me. 

BOBBY — It would be unkind to send me home now. 

DR. B. — Come, Bobby. If you knew what awaits you 
at home you would not say that. 

BOBBY — I do know what awaits me. That is why I 
say it. 

DR. B. — Have you had bad news from home? 

BOBBY — Let him read the message. Rosa. (She 
gives it.) 

DR. — (Reads. Startled.) What! Mr. Carey dead! 
I must go home at once and I shall take you with me. 

BOBBY — Read on, Dr. and you will see why I cannot 
go. 

DR. B. — -(Reads and studies short space.) Have you 
answered this? 

ROSA — I was going to answer it when you came in. 

DR. B. — Is this the answer written here on the bot- 
tom? "Accept offer and come to me?" 

ROSA — He will not have it any other way. 

DR. B. — Let me answer for you, Bobby. 

BOBBY — You don't understand. 

DR. B. — I know more than you think I do, my boy. 
And I am not going to let you do something you might 
regret. Send this answer, Rosa. "Let business wait 
until I come home. Am sailing soon. Bobby." 

BOBBY — If you want to be kind to me I insist that 
you let my answer stand. I cannot go home. 

DR. B. — Is it because of the Gerst property? 

BOBBY — What do you mean? 

DR. B. — There has been some question as to whether 
this is alien property. I thought you knew. 

BOBBY — Who was kind enough to rai3e that question? 

DR. B. — Max Martin suggested it to me. 

BOBBY — Then you may send your message. At any 
cost to me I shall go home and defend my honor and 
that of Albert Gerst, who can never go home ; for he 
gave his life for my flag. 

CURTAIN. 



29 



ACT IV. 

SCENE 1 — Same as Act I, two weeks later. 

ETH. — (L. Crossing to admit Dr. B.— R.) 0, Dr. 
Brighton! Is it really you? 

DR. B. — My dear girl, I am sorry I could not be with 
you sooner. But I am here now and want you to tell 
me if there is anything I can do for you. 

ETH. — There is so much I hardly know where to begin. 

DR. B. — First, let me ask you whether your father's 
will has been found? 

ETH. — Max says there was none. 

DR. B. — I say there was. 

ETH. — 0, if only it could be found. 

DR. B. — It would be a great embarrassment to Max. 

ETH. — I should not hesitate at that. He has treated 
Mrs. Walton shamefully, and I know my father did not 
intend to give him such a privilege. 

DR. B. — Do you wish Bobby to keep the farm? 

ETH. — You know I do, Doctor Brighton. 

DR. B. — (Gives cablegram.) What do you know about 
that? 

ETH. — (Reads.) It is a hideous falsehood. Where 
did you get this? 

DR. B. — By the greatest good luck I happened to visit 
Bobby just after he received it. (Pointing it out.) 
There is the answer he was sending. 

ETH. — Did Bobby doubt me like that? 

DR. B. — You must not forget that his mother sent 
that message. 

ETH. — I want to cable a correction at once. 

DR. B. — Cable? I brought him home with me. 

ETH. — Has he come home and did not let me know it? 

DR. B. — He felt that you would not care to know it, 
and I can assure you he has a very heavy heart, and 
that he is selling his home only because he thinks you 
want it. 

ETH. — Isn't there any way to prevent Max from fore- 
closing on this mortgage? 

DR. B. — The mortgage belongs to you. You can do 
as you please with it. 

ETH. — O, how happy I would be if I could prove to 
Boby that my father was his friend. 

DR. B. — You will soon have that pleasure. Here is 
a letter your father WTote me just before he died, ad- 
vising me of a change in his will. I found it on my desk 
when I returned last night. By this change the mortgage 
is given to you to do with as you please. 

ETH. — (Rising.) Will you go with me to the farm 
at once? 

DR. B.— I think we should find Max and confront him 
with these facts. 

ETH. — That is what I mean to do; but unless we hurry 

30 



it will be too late. He and mother went to the farm just 
before you came in. 

DR. B. — Get your hat. It is just twenty miles out 
there, and my car is at the door. 

ETH, — I do not need a hat. I am ready to ride as 
fast, as you may wish to drive. (Leads out R.) 

CURTAIN. 
ACT IV. 

SCENE 2 — At the Walton home. One hour later. 

POLLY — (Seated center with photo. Doll and dress 
in chair by her side. Addresses photo.) Bress yo li'l 
heart, honey, you mus' be powerful lonesome widout no 
daddy, en no home, en no dolls to play wid; en maybe 
you is ragged en hongry besides, but don't you cry, sweet 
chile, ole black mammy got you now en she goin* to 
Stan' by you to her las' ten cents. Dey says I couldn't 
understan' de words in you mouf, but so long 's you can 
smile at me thru yo' tears I can understan' enough to 
feel sorry for you, en try to hep you out in de sunshine 
ergin. En I done saved up enough dimes to buy you dis 
li'l doll, too. (Takes up doll.) I knows how you been 
grievin' 'bout how dem hyenas cut yo' dollie's head off, 
en maybe yo mammy's too, en I hopes dis'n '1 hep you 
disremember all dem crool days. (Holds doll in arms.) 
You'se a pretty thing. Now go to sleep. (Rocks doll 
and may sing lullaby.) 

ROSA— (L.) Whose baby is that, Polly? 

POLLY — It am my li'l War Orphan's doll. Miss Rosa. 
I got to thinkin' 'bout dem li'l fellers en my ole heart 
got lonesome, en I jes' wanted to hoi' somepin in my 
arms. 

ROSA— Made you feel better, didn't it? 

POLLY — Yes, it did, honey. Made me plumb happy. 

ROSA — (Taking doll.) Let me see it. 

POLLY — Be keerful en done drap it. 

ROSA — I am not as clumsy as that, am I? 

POLLY — No, honey, but you is powerful inexpe- 
rienced. 

ROSA — I know her little heart will be happy when she 
gets this. Let me mail it for you? 

POLLY — En put dis li'l dress in, too. 

ROSA — What a darling dress. Did you make it? 

POLLY — I washed for Miss Tyler whilst she made it. 

ROSA — I will fix them up for you. (Starts L.) 

MRS. W. — (R.) Rosa, tell Bobby Mr. Martin and 
Mrs. Carey have arrived. (Ex. R. — L.) 

POLLY— Is Miss Ethelind wid 'm? 
MRS. W.— No. 

POLLY — Now look a hear. Miss Mattie, deys somepin 
curious bout dis business, case Miss Ethelind done prom- 
ised me a home wid her en Mr. Bobby, so long as I live. 

MRS. W. — You don't understand, Polly. Run along 

31 



MAX — (Laying paper on table.) Here is the mort- 
gage. I will give you the will when you get back to the 
city. Ethelind, your mother is guilty only in keeping 
the secret. The fault is all mine and I confess it. 

ETH. — I am glad you are manly enough to acknowl- 
edge it. And I sincerely hope you will continue to be 
honest with yourself until you can appreciate the full 
meaning of the gold stars that twinkle from so many 
thousand American windows. If only you could do that 
Max, it would be easy for you to feel grateful to them, 
and to these millions of blue stars, (Draws curtain back, 
exposing service flag.) and by standing by them prove 
yourself a man and not a beast. I forgive you both. 
Goodby. 

MAX — I shall try to redeem myself by making amends 
as far as possible. Goodby. (Going R.) I would like 
to speak to you, Dr. Brighton. (Ex. R.) 

ETH. — My good friend, you are leaving me on the 
threshold of great happiness, and out of a heart full of 
love and appreciation I want to thank you. 

DR. B. — I have done nothing but my duty to your 
father, to you and to a soldier; and I am very happy to 
know that in doing it I have made it possible for your 
father's dearest wish to become a reality. I hear Bobby 
coming now. Tell him I will be back in just a few min- 
utes. 

ETH. — (Smiling.) Don't hurry. Take time to smoke 
a cigar. 

DR. B. — Sure. I understand. (Smiling and pointing 
finger.) Remember, now, he is wounded. 

ETH.— I will be easy on him. (Ex. Dr. B.— R.) 

BOBBY — (L. in uniform and walking cautiously.) 
Why, hello Ethelind. I did not expect to find you here. 

ETH.— (Offering both hand.) You didn't? Well, I 
am here all right, and I welcome you home. 

BOBBY— HOME? 

ETH. — Yes, HOME. Your home and mine, Bobby 
dear, as long as we live. 

BOBBY — I do not understand. 

ETH. — (Leads him to chair, center.) Sit here and I 
will make you understand. (Bobby sits. Ethelind ad- 
vances to front of the stage and addresses audience.) 
Now, good people, you run along home and leave me to 
convince this soldier that I am still "standing by." And 
in the future let us strive to show that we are not un- 
mindful of the great debt of gratitude we owe to the 
boys who planted our victorious flag in the very vortex 
of the greatest carnage of all ages. They did their duty 
nobly. Now let us do ours, so that not one of them 
may have cause to say in his heart: (Slowly.) 
"Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky. 
Thou dost not bite so nigh 

As benefits forgot: 
Though thou the waters warp. 
Thy sting is not so sharp 
As friend remembered not." 
End. 



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